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Nickel Rant^tm:
Cogito, Ergo Ben
It's 66.6 degrees, 6:66 am and Silver is $16.66
by Edgar J. Steele

My name is Edgar J. Steele. 1^st April 2008

I didn't know her name, but she was young and pretty and she stood her ground. Our captors proceeded to shoot her face into a bloody, pulpy mass with their pellet guns. Her sobs could be heard, starting in her throat and ending somewhere in the bubbling, red nightmare that had been her face just moments ago.

I couldn't breathe, myself, and began clawing my way to the surface, like swimming upward after being held under water too long. Like waterboarding, I suppose. Gasping for air, I opened my eyes. 5:25, said the clock beside my bed. Too early. Way too early. But the alternative was worse - slipping back into what I now realized had been a nightmare.

What in the hell? I asked myself. I don't have dreams like that very often, I chided myself, as I dragged my sorry ass into the bathroom and stared blearily into two, too-red eyes. Coming back out, I noticed the temperature readout on the dresser: 66.6 degrees.

Let's go check the market. After yesterday's end-of-month, end-of-quarter selloff debacle, I figured that silver would be bouncing back nicely. I was wrong. A half hour later, after sifting through the rubble of my in basket, the stock market opened. Silver's spot already had been down 50 cents prior to the open, but then it really started to drop. As platinum's downticked past $111 on the day so far, I noticed the time: 7:06 am.

Half an hour, I thought, and all hell is breaking loose. The previous evening's panic sell orders should have been liquidated by now. Just what in the hell is going on? Silver's spot ask price ticked down to $16.66. My mind, never entirely under my direct control, idly noted that the time could just as easily be read as being 6:66 am. Nice, I thought. Am I sure I woke up from that nightmare? She had been so pretty before they started in on her. Just like the price of silver last week. Now, simply the Market of the Beast.

Maybe it's all just an elaborate April Fool's joke, I thought. Descarte's evil deceiver and me. Yeah, right.

Treasury Secretary Henry Paulsen's proposal for the Federal Reserve takeover of the financial world, released just yesterday, came to mind. Hmmmmm. Well, if they wanted the market's reaction to being TSA'ed into submission, they just got it, I thought. Don't TSA me, bro, came the snippy reply from the back rooms of my mind.

Is it possible that only WhirlyBen Bernanke and I exist? That, somehow, he and I are locked in eternal existential combat? Cogito, ergo Ben?

Welcome to my mind. This is the way it works. As I told my wife before we got married: I'll make you two promises. First, I'll never hit you. Second, it never will be boring. Twenty-three years later, she will be the first to tell you that I've kept my word.

Can you mentally abuse yourself, I wondered? That pretty young girl's face came swimming back into focus. Shivering, I checked the temperature on the gauge next to my desk: 68 degrees. Well, some things are improving, at least. Not silver, though, I learned as I refreshed the Kitco readout on my screen.

Welcome to life under the new regime, same as the old regime - only harsher. Don't TSA me, Bro!

I've yet to see anybody do a considered writeup of the outer limits of Paulsen's proposal that things economic and financial in Amerikwa become even more centralized and even more tightly controlled. I wonder if there is any limit, actually, given the wording that I have seen so far.

But, then, it's the very same guys who run the Fed and the CFR who have been running America for a century now. The thumbscrews have been getting tightened down increasingly ever since they killed JFK and Dubya, poor, dumb moron that he is, simply has lent his own goofy enthusiasm to the tightening process. An image of that girl's face being impacted by pellets flashed across my mind with one of the faces behind the pellet guns morphing between George W. Bush and Alfred E. Neuman.

It no longer matters whether you believe me or not. America is done for, no matter what. These are the death throes, folks.

How ironic. For over a hundred years prior to 1913, excepting only a couple of burbles like the War of Northern Aggression, America's money supply was rock-solid stable. What a dollar bought in the newly-founded republic could still be bought, until just prior to World War I. Zero inflation, what a concept. Then one of America's greatest traitors, Woodrow Wilson, ushered in the Federal Reserve, whose mandate was to stabilize the money supply and control inflation. What a joke. From that point to this day, the dollar has lost 99 cents to inflation. That last penny will be gone by year-end, at the current run rate.

The rapid deterioration of America's financial affairs, a direct result of the insane policies of the Federal Reserve Bank, can be solved, according to Henry Paulsen, only by more Federal Reserve Bank control, of course. Makes sense to me. There will be no more liberty until morale improves, goes the cynically-immortal shipboard saying. MASH afloat, in other words. The Three Stooges gone to sea in ships.

This is the same Federal Reserve that, in response to the stock market running amuck back in the mid-1990s, prompted then-Fed-Chairman "Easy Al" Greenspan to proclaim the market's "irrational exuberance." Easy Al then turned on the money spigots in earnest, running the Dow from 4,000 to its current level. The same Federal Reserve that engineered America's dot-com, housing and mortgage debacle by creating too much money, the solution for which is - all together now - create even more money!

If creating the Federal Reserve nearly a century ago can be likened to the farmer giving over control of the henhouse to the foxes, what now is being proposed by America's Treasury Secretary can only be described as giving over control of the farmer's entire family, livelihood and the entire farm to control of the foxes.

If people really understood what was going on in America today, by tonight there would be blood in the streets and light poles all across America would be decorated with the swaying bodies of plutocrats, elected officials, bankers and other assorted bureaucrats.

I don't like being preached to by religious zealots, but I have to admit that, if ever there are going to be end times, these are them (they, actually, but that sounds funny, doesn't it?).

I read an article this morning noting that 10% of all Americans are on food stamps (actually, now food stamps have become a debit card for the convenience of all and so the illegal aliens don't have to be embarrassed when they cash in at the checkstand - it looks just like a credit card being swiped through the machine, after all). Yet another thing for which you can thank Amerikwa's masters. Coming soon to a family near your own.

Oh, and one last thing: I'm starting to feel sick, sick, sick. Did somebody mention universal health care, too?

Old America, an idea whose time is done.

New America. An idea whose time has come.

My name is Edgar J. Steele. Thanks for listening. Please visit my web site, www.ConspiracyPenPal.com, for other messages just like this one.

-ed

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